Hades's Revenge Read online

  “Exceptional,” Jessop said, “What a beautiful piece.”

  Having spied the flipping of the sword, the captain made his way down to the deck where Jessop admired every inch of the sword while Day told him a little history about it.

  “Mr. Day, you must have great confidence in Mr. Aster to let him handle your most prized possession,” Penn said.

  “Aye, Captain Kramer,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Mr. Aster. That was some fancy flipping you were just performing. I think you know not just how close to the end of your life you came. Mr. Day would have cut your throat right here and now if you had dropped that sword.”

  “My profound apologies, Mr. Day. It wasn’t my intention to worry you. Please note that I’ve not dropped a sword in nigh on five years,” he said as he spun the sword, the upper blade making a circle around his wrist, then grasped the grip once more.

  “I spent most of my life with a friend’s family. Big Tom, the father, was the town smithy. Tommy, my friend, had no interest in learning his father’s trade, though Big Tom often needed him to lend a hand when the number of jobs over ran the amount of hours in a day.

  “I spent every minute I could learning the trade and assisted Big Tom whenever I could manage. Mostly we worked on horseshoes, cart wheels, and other farming equipment, but on occasion we would get a sword for repairs or sharpening. Tommy and I would take turns playing with the sword when Big Tom wasn’t working on it.

  Examining the sword for a moment he continued, “I’d say it was German. The sweeping hilt is not as fancy as you might see from the Spanish or Italians, but I prefer the simplicity of its lines.”

  Day wiped his forehead with his forearm as he agreed nodding at Jessop’s assessment.

  “Do you have any training in swordsmanship?” the captain asked Jessop.

  “No. I’ve had some training in fencing, at my father’s insistence, but no combat training.”

  “Would you like to learn? We try to train most of our men in some kind of combat, since we will be under siege at times, but when I see potential like yours, I like to promote that skill.”

  “I would be an honor to learn from you, Captain.”

  “Do you have any objections to my training your assistant at sunrise each morning, Mr. Day?”

  “Not at all, Captain.”

  “Good, then we’ll start tomorrow—top deck.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Jessop said nodding to the man, and continued, “Sir,” and nodded to Day in thanks.

  “Now, get to work, son,” the smiling Day said handing the velvet fabric that had housed the sword to Jessop.

  “I will. And I will take good care of her.”

  “You better or….” Day made a slashing motion with his hand at his neck, though he smirked an odd smile as he did so.

  * * *

  The air was brackish and chilly as Jessop emerged from the middle deck where he slept. The wind was gusty, and white caps were forming making the water choppy, but a month on the Victory had made him an expert at walking despite the rocking ship. He remembered a time not so long ago he didn’t think he would ever get used to the rolling and heaving, but now he was solid on his feet.

  The sky was lightening, but the sun could not been seen through the thick fog bank to the east. The captain’s back was to him as he climbed the stairs to the upper deck. He turned in greeting. “Mr. Aster—good day!”

  “And to you, Captain.”

  “Ready for your first lesson?”

  “I believe so.”

  “You must know so, lad. For learning to wield a sword is hard work and requires great discipline. If you are unsure, then you should not embark upon a path that requires such great dedication.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “Good. I won’t start with the anatomy of the sword since you come from a metallurgy background, you could probably teach me a thing or two about what makes up a proper sword, but I will tell you that everything you learned in fencing, well, makes for a very pretty dance, but not necessarily the best way to win a battle. First I’m going to show you a few disarming moves. A foe without a weapon is much easier to kill then one trying to take your head off.”

  He handed him a beat up sword that had not been edged or sharpened; he’d obviously used this to teach others.

  With the handle of his sword in one hand and his other gripping the blade tip, the captain held his sword above his head.

  “What I’d like you to do is hit my sword in a downward motion, this would be my defense.”

  Jessop made a downward chop with his sword to the horizontal blade. The captain twisted his sword to his right sending Jessop’s sword whirling to the ground, then in slow motion the captain made a backward motion as if to jab Jessop in the stomach with the pommel of his sword.

  “Use the whole of your sword. Consider it an extension of your body. You’re fighting for your life, not to make a score.”

  “Right,” Jessop said standing in a more defensive mode.

  The next move he taught Jessop was a way of grabbing his assailant’s weapon at impact, adjusting his stance so his left foot was behind the right foot of the enemy then twisting the both to the left knocking the attacker backward off balance over the well placed foot of hero.

  It was hard work and after the first week he was more sore than the first week of being on the ship. Every muscle ached, even ones he didn’t know he had, but with it, he found himself stronger and more confident. He’d always been strong, Big Tom had seen to that.

  One of the things Big Tom said, “A smithy who can’t pick up his own anvil is not a very good smithy.” This had been a requirement he’d placed on Jessop and Tommy though he gave the young boys a smaller anvil than his own. Everyday they’d try to lift the anvil, for Big Tom wouldn’t allow them to learn the trade until they were strong enough.

  Tommy and Jessop competed to outdo the other. If Tommy carried a bucket of iron ore for his father, Jessop carried two. It was like that whenever the two were together.

  As the captain had said, sword fighting was very different from fencing, though the experience did give him an advantage in his learning curve. The captain mentioned he was a natural and within a month he was able to disarm the captain on occasion, though he wondered if the captain wasn’t being kind to keep up his confidence.

  Chapter Four

  Swords clanked during Jessop’s lesson with the captain one morning when an explosion came from below deck along with the whistling of an ejected propellant. A puff of lilac-gray smoke drifted upward past the deck then dissipated in the breeze, but the screams from below did not.

  The ship rumbled with footsteps running to the gun deck. The captain made his way toward the screams, with Jessop close at hand. The yelling died when three men rolled the cannon forward and off the injured man—Rees. Rees had passed out from pain when the cannon had been pulled back and he slumped to the floor. Behind Jessop and the captain, Simmons was sporting a half lathered face, still carrying the straight razor.

  “What’s happened?” the captain demanded from Day.

  “One of the new men set down the lighter on the cannon nowhere near the fuse, I might add, but there must have been a small amount of gun powder on the gun. Next thing I knew, it fired,” Day explained with large hand gestures and facial animation.

  Day continued. “The cannon kicked back pinning Rees to the mast pole. If the chain on the cannon hadn’t been in place it would have gone through him and the mast.”

  “Mistakes like this shouldn’t happen, Day.”

  “I know. I take full responsibility, sir.”

  “Simmons. How bad is it?” the captain asked of the squatting man with a half shave.

  “Not good. Shin bone has gone completely through the skin and though I can’t see it, I’m guessing the smaller bone is broken too. Very bad break. Looks like we might have to amputate.”

  “Amputate?” Jessop blurted.

  Simmons gave
him a disapproving glare, and answered grabbing the towel around his neck and applying pressure to the wound. “Yes. Amputate. He’ll bleed out and I don’t have the capability to surgically stitch his veins back together, if that would even work.”

  “Cauterize the veins and set the bones,” Jessop suggested.

  “Doubt it would work. Open wound like this, the soft tissue of the bone will most likely be infected. Infection can lead to death. A man without a limb is better than a dead man.”

  “True. He’s so young to go without a limb. Shouldn’t we at least try?”

  “We can try, but how is a seaman going to get around with such an injury. He’ll be bedridden for weeks,” Simmons retorted.

  “We are understaffed as it is, Mr. Aster. We can’t support a man who does not pull his own weight,” the captain interjected.

  “I can rig something with Donovan’s help, if he’s willing,” Jessop said looking to Jeffrey Donovan, Simmons’s apprentice.

  “I would like to try,” Donovan offered.

  “And what if your plan doesn’t work?” Simmons said looking to the captain for his support.

  “Then I will take up the slack,” Jessop said.

  “You can’t do the work of two men,” the captain said.

  “I’ll help,” Donovan said.

  “I’ll help too,” Brown seconded.

  The captain looked to Simmons with a raised eyebrow. “It’s up to you, Simmons.”

  “Fine. But if he dies from infection or complications, his death is on your hands, Aster.”

  “Agreed,” Jessop said.

  “Men…take him to the galley. Donovan, get the medicine box, Phillip, bring as much rum as you can carry to the galley. Aster, you’re coming with me.”

  Young Phillip Schultz, the powder monkey, took off like a bullet, followed closely by his best friend Marcus Boyd, a cabin boy. Jessop had seen Rees and the young boys playing games on occasion. They would do whatever was needed to help Rees.

  * * *

  Men carrying the unconscious Rees scurried past Jessop and Simmons. Others talked among themselves about the accident and Simmons and Jessop followed behind Rees.

  “I don’t appreciate having to defend my prognosis,” Simmons said as they followed the procession.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to undermine your abilities. I have the utmost respect for you and your craft,” Jessop returned.

  “Thank you. In the future though, please keep your comments to yourself until we are alone.”

  “I will do that, sir.”

  “Good. Then what is your plan.”

  “When I was repairing the casks, I came across a barrel of gypsum. I think we could make a cast around the leg, immobilizing it.”

  “What about swelling? What about infection?”

  “We flush the wound the best we can after we cauterize it. If swelling occurs we can recast it. That would give us a chance to check the wound for infection.”

  “That could work, but what about sleeping and eating. How do you plan on getting him to the middle deck?”

  “I was thinking maybe of rigging a triangular erection over the hole, fixed with a pulley to hoist him up and down, that is if Donovan can help.”

  “Hmm…” he said, mulling over the idea. “Why are you so set on helping this lad? I’ve never even seen you talk to him.”

  “It’s true. I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend, but I don’t think anyone deserves losing a limb if it can be avoided.”

  “Well, that’s still out for debate,” Simmons said as they entered the galley and the cook Morti Malloy looked disheveled at being displaced and overrun by the men laying Rees on the large table in the middle.

  “Morti. Hand me the poker.”

  “Sir? It’s red hot.”

  “Exactly…That’s what we need. Aster, pull the towel away,” Simmons commanded.

  The poker hissed against the man’s flesh. Bystanders grimaced and the patient woke long enough to scream before passing out once more. Two more sizzles and he handed the poker to Morti.

  “Boys? Where’s the rum?”

  Two cracking voices returned in stereo, “Here, sir,” as Phillip handed over a bottle. Simmons uncorked it, took a swig, offered it to Jessop, who declined, and upended the bottle over the exposed bone and wound. “Another bottle,” he demanded.

  Again he took another swig then poured it over the wound. “Help me move him to the end of the table,” he ordered Jessop.

  Rees’s lower legs dangle over the edge. Simmons sat on the floor in front of the leg to use his upper body strength to maneuver the bones into place.

  “Hold his thigh at the edge of the table. Keep them steady. I’m going to pull his foot and try to set the bones.”

  Jessop grabbed the rum, took a swig, then held Rees’s leg tightly. It took two tries, but Simmons was able to set them. The heat from the stove and the hard, stressful work had him sweating like a pig. When he was done, he lay on the floor arms outstretched and took a deep breath.

  “Whew. Okay, Phillip, take Marcus with you and roll up that barrel of gypsum Aster says is in storage. We’re going to need some old rags and an old bucket and water too. We’re going to be making a really big mess,” Simmons said with a smile, grabbing the rum bottle once more and handing it to Jessop.

  Morti t’sked at his kitchen being overrun by hooligans and dirtied up by bodies and plaster.

  * * *

  Simmons stitched the open wound with a needle and waxed thread. A little more rum, an herbal poultice and a bandage gingerly attached to prevent movement of the bone. By the time he was done, the out of breath boys returned with a bucket of gypsum, water, and a bunch of rags.

  Jessop and the boys mixed the powder and water into a soupy concoction. First they loosely wrapped the leg with fairly clean linen then laid strips of plaster soaked strips, building upon one another. They slathered the thickening soup until it was at least a half inch thick.

  In the heat of the galley, the plaster hardened quickly. Once they were done with the lower half of the leg, they made another batch and extended the cast to Rees’s mid-thigh making sure to angle the leg a bit keeping it off the ground if Rees was in a standing position.

  The young boys were enjoying their messy work and were insistent in covering Rees’s toes in an attempt to make the foot cast into a dragon head. Though it did sound fun, Jessop made them refrain, reminding them how long the cast would be on and how irritating it would be not to at least wiggle his toes. The boys reluctantly agreed and instead made a pattern of dragon scales in the hardening plaster.

  When done, Rees was carried to Marcus’s bed in the officers’ quarters until Jessop and Donovan could build the hoisting contraption over the hole of the middle deck. In the interim, several of the other men chipped in and took up the slack in Rees’s chores and duties until Donovan and Jessop were done and could take over his duties.

  Marcus and Phillip did their part in the milder duties when they could, and kept Rees company when they weren’t working. Simmons checked on him dutifully, noting any body temperature changes, swelling of his foot and color of his toes. The first couple of days Simmons gave the injured man an opiate for pain, but when there looked to be no infection brewing, he resorted to willow bark and chamomile.

  After a week of bunking with Marcus, he was given a set of crutches that Jessop had made from scrap wood they found. Jessop didn’t visit Rees. He let the boys deliver the crutches and announce the pulley system for pulling Rees in and out of the middle deck. At first Jessop thought he might have to rig something up for a bed, but miraculously the hammock worked out pretty well, though the boys had to help him in and out of the hammock the first week.

  How he found time to still do his lessons with the captain, along with his duties and most of Rees’s, Jessop wasn’t sure, but he did it nonetheless. And he gained the respect of most everyone aboard except Rees who had no inkling how much he owed his life and limb to Jessop. This was perfec
tly fine with Jessop, in fact, he preferred it that way.

  Chapter Five

  No one was sure who was more excited to have Rees’s cast coming off—Rees or Marcus and Phillip, but the day finally came when, lo and behold, Simmons got out his medical saw and slowly and carefully made a cut down one side and then the other.

  A foul smell permeated the room as the plaster was pulled away from the leg. The boys laughed and waved their hands in front of their noses accusing each other of passing wind and laughing. The skin revealed was sickly white from plaster dust, lack of sun, and oxygen.

  After cleaning and inspecting the stitches under the remains of the dried herbal poultice, he slowly moved the knee, flexing the atrophied muscles. “It’s normal. You need to go slow to regain your muscle,” Simmons said, noting Rees’s shocked face at seeing the difference between his thigh muscles. “A break like this will not completely heal for some time, but if you’re careful, it looks like it’s started nicely.

  “I know you’re dying to scratch it, but try not to. Your skin’s taken a beating in that cast for the last eight weeks. I suggest you work the muscles in a gentle and controlled movement taking your time to get back your strength. If you go to fast you risk another major injury which might not heal as well a second time.”

  “I certainly don’t want that. Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “I’m glad it worked out. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see you in here again for a very long time, if ever—get my meaning?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rees said with a smile.

  “You boys help him off the table and up the stairs, and when you’re feeling up to it, Rees, take down the contraption that hauled you up and down to the middle deck. I need to help Bartley with a repair of one of the sail riggings and I need that pulley.”